


Master of All, Master of None

by KcLeigh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Auror Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, Danger, Death Eaters, Desperation, Duelling, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fights, Hermione Granger-centric, POV Hermione Granger, POV Severus Snape, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Secrets, Severus Snape Lives, Severus Snape is Bad at Feelings, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Spells & Enchantments, Spies, The Golden Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:26:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KcLeigh/pseuds/KcLeigh
Summary: Hermione had only her wand and her wits. They’d been enough for the past seven years to keep them all alive. Until now.Set after the Battle of Hogwarts, a big secret and a deadly mistake take Hermione on a desperate solo mission with life-or-death consequences. When Snape stands in her way, she divulges something that could make him oppose her at every turn, or stay true to the Order of the Phoenix and help her once again save the Wizarding World.If only they don't kill each other first.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

She fled down the deserted corridor, and the man in black followed. The hallway was dark and cold, stretching out past her field of vision, as if for eternity. Offshoots, alcoves and barred wooden doors formed a labyrinth that less-observant girls could get lost in. An occasional portrait pointed the way. This passageway had once been crowded and bustling: all laughter and sunlight and the clomping footsteps of children rushing to class. The world had moved on since then. Changed. The corridor had emptied. 

The girl had been struck by a momentary glimpse of what this place had once been… a prickling sensation as if she could hold aside the veil of time, past the inky blackness around her, past the frigid stone floors that echoed with her hurried steps, to view them as they once were: young. Together. Alive. A small gold trinket glinted in the softened light of a solitary ensconced torch. She shook off her foolish distraction and quickened her pace, shoving the trinket beneath her clothing once more. 

He knew someone was there. But he had no idea it was her. She had to get away before he got a clear shot.

* * *

The man in black smiled bitterly. It was a wince. Painful to see, more painful to do.

He had travelled these halls for many years. Had he been elsewhere, he could have drawn a map of the castle’s hundreds of rooms and thousands of passageways from memory alone. He was not elsewhere, however. He was still here, though cold logic told him he should be in the ground right now. But nothing about his life was ever simple.

He tracked the intruder, yet had no particular urge to end the chase just yet. He wanted a challenge. It frankly pleased him to discover that he wanted anything at all. 

Beneath layers of wool and starched cotton, his scars felt aflame. But he didn’t reach for them. He winced, instead tightening his grip on the wand now hidden by his elongated sleeve.

* * *

The steps echoing hollowly behind her suddenly stopped. In the eerie silence she heard water sloshing through the depths of the castle, as if it were alive. As if it watched her. “Muffliato.” _If only I had the cloak now_ , she thought. 

But Hermione had only her wand and her wits. They’d been enough for the past seven years to keep them all alive. Until now.

She rounded another corner, and the torch’s light quickly faded from view. “Nox,” she whispered, extinguishing the tiny flicker from her wand that she’d permitted to hasten her way, casting herself in total darkness. He was approaching. Was it better to hide and wait, or disarm him? She turned and lifted her arm in duelling stance. She couldn’t risk it. 

He stopped. Even in total silence and darkness, he knew someone was there. The air surged and crackled with it: magic... power. He could almost taste it, like blood on his tongue. 

His shirt, the color of pure snow, was open at the throat, and he swallowed. His vest was gone, as was his tie. Lost in the war. He’d been unable to stand the feeling of fabric against his throat… ever since the war. The bloody war was supposed to be over: the villains long captured, the martyrs long buried. But now, someone had broken through the castle’s defenses. And he planned to find out how. 

_Once more into the_ _breach,_ he thought bitterly. _Time to see what I'm up against._ He lifted his hand and flicked his wand with silent precision. A loud crack broke the heavy silence. His spell was cast aside by his unseen foe. _Whoosh_. Someone had been waiting for him here. But they’d waited for him to attack? Interesting. His knuckles tightened around his wand, and he struck out again.

She responded with restraint, blocking his spells or casting them harmlessly aside. She remained silent but was sure he must hear her pounding heart, hammering away in her chest with the dark thrill of defending herself against his assault. Magic crackled and sparked around them, lighting the hall with the briefest of brilliant flashing colors. Like lightning, then nothing. A soundless fireworks show. Finally, he paused. Hermione let out a breath she'd been holding but held her wand steady.

“Reveal yourself,” he said in that voice she’d never forget. “It would be in your best interest.” Low and yet so fluid, like liquid metal flowing through her veins. Snape.

If she answered, would he recognize her voice? Too chancy. So, she waited for his next assault. Her pulse pounded in her ears and a flush spread on her cheeks. “Very well,” came Snape’s unanswered reply. 

Then he was everywhere, casting curse after hex. He was relentless. His speed was matched only by the inventiveness of his attacks. She furrowed her brow and fired back, knuckles curling so tight around her wand that they popped. Soon her defensive responses ceased and she attacked him in earnest. The tempo was maddening. She didn’t even have time to think. She just reacted on pure instinct. 

The shape of his boots. Her wand dripping fire. Each flash a clue to his next offensive, or her next strike. Snape fired a silent hex that shot emerald green shards from his wand. She lost her footing and rolled away as a stone of the castle floor was blasted into the air. Feeling the cold stones against her stomach and thighs, she fired back from the floor to buy time. He grunted in pain as her hex hit home. Forward and back, forward and back. Each time she lost the upper hand, she retreated into her mind for a faster response… a stronger spell. Lives depended on her. And this was taking too long. She hated to do this… but she bit her bottom lip and flicked her wand one final time. A flash of blue light hit him in the throat, and he gasped in pain. It was enough. 

His opponent pushed him hard against the stone wall and pressed the point of their wand into his neck. His throat throbbed in exquisite pain. Panic burned a bitter path down his body. How had he been bested? He hadn’t lost a duel in almost twenty years. 

“Please,” the intruder whispered. “Don’t make me hurt you.” 

Muffled shouts sounded from far off. “Reinforcements are due to arrive any moment,” he purred, his voice belying a calm that he didn’t feel. “You won’t escape this castle. Not tonight. Not ever, if you kill me.”

“Kill you, sir?” A pause. That voice… how did he know that voice? “That’d be rich, seeing as I’m the one who saved your life. Haven’t you always wondered how you survived? After all, Voldemort didn’t spare any of those who stood in his way.”

He grabbed her. Unyielding hands like vice grips clenched around her cold arms. “Granger?” _She_ had bested _him_? Snape didn’t know whether to be outraged or impressed. The wand against his throat dug deeper. “Give me your wand,” she ordered. “Now!” He complied. She could just make out his eyes in the darkness. He was livid. Yet curious. “Do not follow me. I warn you.” Those voices were almost upon her. She turned and ran, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. 

But then a hand encircled her wrist from behind. She was yanked hard behind a floor-length tapestry. She raised her arm to hex him into oblivion when Snape pressed her back against the cold wall and covered her mouth with his hand.

“Shhh,” his hot breath hissed in her ear as he pressed his body against her. Her furrowed brows showed her confusion and panic even as she began to fight him. He looked into her eyes, praying that she’d understand. He motioned towards the floor with his gaze. Pressed together, their presence was undetectable in the tiny alcove hidden behind the tapestry. She made up her mind quickly. Willing herself to relax, she flattened her body against the wall, firing off silent shielding charms as he pressed even further against her. Hermione dipped her chin in the slightest of nods. She was just as brave as he remembered. Intelligent, too, if reckless. 

Several sets of footsteps stopped close by. Slowly, he lowered his hand from her mouth. He knew she wouldn’t scream. His wand arm remained flung above her head, and he rested his other across her throat and chest. He couldn’t risk moving further now. 

Seconds became minutes as her pursuers searched the castle wing for her, whispering disenchantments. Sweat was dripping down her back and making her palms clammy. She began to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. He smelled like leather and herbs and fresh parchment. She inhaled deeper. _I like it_ , she realized with an awkward jolt. She felt him wince at her slight movement and mentally admonished herself. Where had that thought come from?

He willed himself not to notice how good it felt to have her pressed up against him. _Timing, Severus,_ his internal voice warned. _And situation. What’s wrong with you?_ It had been a very long time since he'd willingly touched anyone. Suddenly her entire body shifted in the tiniest twitch, and he winced as he pressed her hard against the wall with his free hand. He could feel everything… her curves against his arm as he held her still, the length of her warm legs entwined with his, wayward strands of her hair curling against his cheek. Unbidden, he grew rock hard.

Snape gritted his teeth and felt shame rise within him. _That_ feeling he was most familiar with. It walked with him always, like a second skin. He was meant for vicious battles and scholarly pursuit. His skills were potions and duelling – he was matchless in both. Master of both. Both were at odds with his effortless grace, his imperturbable calm: defying the sticky heat, caustic fumes and stench of potion making, as well as the fervor of battle. Only those with something to lose have a reason to feel fear. Even when they duelled, he never lost his calm. Even when he lost to her, he made everything look calculated. 

Except when her body pressed up against his. The refinement stripped away to reveal something raw and hungry and unpracticed. He hated himself for his body’s reaction. He was no better than some hormonal teenage student.

But she was kind enough, or perhaps smart enough, not to move or exclaim at his body’s reaction. He decidedly avoided her gaze then, choosing to look just past her left ear.

Footsteps continued to run up and down the halls of Hogwarts, doubling back to recheck every hallway. She had to get out of here. But there was no help for it. He’d chosen to conceal her, for whatever reason. He clearly wasn’t trying to molest her. So she wouldn’t shame him by calling attention to his body’s reaction to their close proximity. 

Never in her wildest dreams or strangest nightmares had she ever imagined herself here. She’d rarely slept more than two or three hours at a time these past few months, and she was exhausted from the constant fighting and hiding and planning and pain. Her cloak was far too threadbare to provide comfort from the Highland wind, even in the summer. The adrenaline coursing through her from their duel had left her restless. Now it began to recede, and she felt colder than ever. Lately she had trouble keeping her limbs from shaking. This unexpected, uncomfortable, confusing encounter was the only physical contact she’d had in ages. Just the warmth of another human being… any human being… made her feel strangely alive.

Hermione was thankful that he couldn’t see her blush. She’d felt heat spread across her cheeks and chest the moment she’d felt him grow hard against her. He was deliberately looking away from her now. It was probably for the best. The initial flare of embarrassment died down, and she took the time to study his features. 

He was clenching his jaw so hard that it looked painful. The disdain and malice she’d seen in his expression during her Potions classes were gone, replaced by a pained anger she’d only seen on his face once before: the night he’d bled out on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack during the Battle of Hogwarts. Saving him had been one of her greatest triumphs, and one of the only secrets she’d ever kept from her closest friends. 

Finally, all footsteps retreated, and silence filled the passageway once more. She hadn’t realized how heavy they’d both been breathing until she noticed his nostrils flare when he looked down at her and breathlessly whispered, “Now you’ll give me answers.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Her hands may have been down at her sides, but she’d kept her wand pointed at his midsection the entire agonizing time they’d hidden from her would-be pursuers. That, or a swift kick between his legs would have afforded her plenty of time to dash out to the castle and disapparate once she reached the edge of the school’s grounds. She jabbed her wand into his ribs.

“I don’t have to give you a damned thing. And you know it.”

He backed away from her then, and she shivered from the cold draft that replaced this warm body. “Sorry, Professor, but I have more important places to be tonight.”

“Please,” came his reply. No hatred. No bile. Just desperation. She shook off the mental image that came to her unbidden, still fresh and jagged: sharp rocks cutting her knees as she shook the prone body on the ground. _Please_ , she’d begged to no one. _Please_. She’d prayed to every god she didn’t believe in. _Please, don’t. Come back. You can’t leave._

She’d gone somewhere else. He should see her face become suddenly devoid of emotion. “Please,” he repeated.

With a shudder, her eyes seemed to see him again. “You say you saved me. I have to know how… why?”

She bit her lip and considered. No. There was no time. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She pushed him aside with her small hand, and he let her.

After a few steps, his voice broke the silence. “Aren't you forgetting something?”

She turned rapidly and saw him dangle a long gold chain from his fingers. Panic welled up in her until she felt she might burst. “Give that back.”

Snape raised one side of his mouth in a mockery of a true smile. “This came unclasped in my hand. If you want it back, you’ll follow me.”

He turned and briskly began walking down the corridor, robes fluttering behind him. She raised her wand. But he was too quick. Without looking back, he flicked his wrist and her wand was wrenched out of her hand with a sudden jolt. The feeling reminded her of touching the stove as a child. She inhaled with a hiss and caressed her now throbbing palm. She’d make him pay for that. Looking up, she saw that he’d turned around and now had her wand firmly in hand, alongside his own.

“This way,” he gestured, and led her down a staircase she knew well. A short while later, she felt the air in the stairwell grow clammy and saw water trickling between the castle’s stones amid slimy moss-covered cracks. They were now underground. He was taking her to the dungeons.

Why take her here? It didn't make sense. Unless... she didn’t know him anymore. Would he try to torture information out of her? It wouldn’t be the first unexpected betrayal she’d encountered this week. He was a few short strides from the door to the dungeon when she summoned her courage.

“I withstood hours at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Do you really think you can do better?”

What was she asking him? His brows knit as he tried to understand.

“She was quite inventive. Not one to go right for the cruciatus curse. She liked to make it last. Very handy with a blade, too.” Hermione pulled up her sleeve to reveal her thin forearm, so pale that it looked spectral in the dim glow of the ensconced torches. “That’s not even the beginning of what she left on my body.”

He saw them then. Jagged scars, viciously carved to spell out his life's biggest regret. _MUDBLOOD_. Inwardly Snape felt bile burn a path up his chest. She was missing chunks of flesh. Cuts were made so deep that he wondered how she hadn’t bled to death. And that was only the beginning of what had been done to her? He felt as if he would choke on his own vomit at the possible scenarios that came unwelcome to his mind, but tried to quell the sensation for her benefit.

She stared him down like a wild thing cornered. What had she gotten herself into now?

“I won’t tell you anything. Do your worst. But I will. Never. Break.” Her eyes remained glued to his, unafraid.


	3. Chapter 3

“I will never break," she repeated as if to to herself as much as him. Why did he suddenly look as if he pitied her? Was this some trick? Her eyes darted to the dungeon door. His closely followed. Realising, he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” He grabbed her by the shoulder and stomped past the dungeons to the end of the hallway, prying open the door to his old Potions classroom. “Get in, Granger.”

Hermione examined the darkened room as he shut and locked the door behind her. She took a few tentative steps as he warded the entrance with several spells. All signs of Slughorn were gone. The lab had been rearranged to the organised chaos she’d encountered during her first Potions lesson with Snape eight years ago. The familiar smells of herbs, unguents and preserving chemicals assaulted her nostrils. She’d never confess it, but she’d always found this classroom and its contents beautiful: luminous butterfly wings reflected the firelight in hues of emerald and turquoise. Enormous canisters of gemstone fragments and dried flowers waited to be crushed into fine powders. Mysterious liquids waited to be understood and appreciated for their rare potential.

He stood and watched her a moment. She had the same look she’d always had as a girl: everything magical was a wonderful puzzle just waiting to be solved. But she was decidedly a young woman now. From her beleaguered expression and the dark circles marring her pale face, she was a young woman in great need of some help.

“You think… you really think I plan to torture you?”

She turned to meet his gaze. “Perhaps.”

She was a war hero. Young, renowned, and famous for all the _right_ reasons. Her fight was supposed to have died with Voldemort. And himself. She looked so vulnerable. He exhaled deeply and handed her wand back. “There. Why would I save you from discovery back there if I had such nefarious intentions?”

She sighed and shrugged, moving away from him and closer to the fireplace to lean against a work table. Light flickered in her dark eyes as she worried her wand with her thumb, stroking the delicate vine pattern up and down the shaft. The action brought a rush of heat to his chest.

Good gods, what was wrong with him? She was too young, and in trouble, and had just inflicted quite a bit of pain on his windpipe, and… and she wasn’t Lily. When had he become such a lecher? He cleared his throat and moved to sit opposite her in a well-worn leather wingback on the other side of the mantle. She looked up with a sad smile.

“I never thought I’d get this back,” she gestured with the wand. “Not just tonight, I mean. Last year. Snatchers took it. Then she did… what she did to me. We escaped and I had to use hers.”

He didn’t need to ask. Bellatrix.

“It felt cold,” Hermione continued. “Each time I held it, I could feel it rebel against me. I was using an instrument of evil, and I could feel that purpose resonate within the wand itself. It was all I could do not to snap it in half. I wielded the wand that tortured Frank and Lily Longbottom to madness. The same wand that killed Sirius.” She looked up from her own wand and met his eyes. “After the battle I worried that my own wand had been destroyed. If the snatcher hadn’t disposed of it prior to attacking Hogwarts, surely it had been blown up or incinerated or taken along by some Deatheater fleeing once their cause was lost.”

“How did you find it?” He asked quietly.

“I tried ‘Accio Hermione’s wand’ but since it had been taken by another, at the moment it wasn’t mine, in the strictest sense. The spell didn’t work. So I searched them.”

No. He shook his head. Surely she wasn’t suggesting…

“Hundreds of them. One by one, where they fell. And I got lucky.” His mouth parted in regret, and she turned to look at the fire once more. He imagined her then, searching the corpses of her fallen enemies. Dropping to her knees, rummaging through coats and trouser pockets and recoiling from cold flesh.

“What possessed you to do such a thing?” He hadn’t meant it to come out that way. He’d seen and done terrible things. But for her to subject herself to that…

“Ron and Harry didn’t know where I’d gone. They tried to carry me away from it, once they finally found me. But I knew I had to keep going. Severus,” she implored.

She’d never used his name before. Why would she? He’d been her professor. Potter and Weasley had called him only by his surname, but Granger, little miss perfect, had at least used his title. Then again, he was her professor no longer. He braced himself against his chair and waited.

“Severus, I _have_ to keep going. People are waiting on me. I’ve got to leave. Now.”

He shook his head. “If you want this back,” he said while retrieving the golden chain from his pocket and turning it over in his hand, “you’ll have to explain why you broke into Hogwarts under cover of nightfall when you could have waltzed inside to a hero’s welcome. And you’ll tell me why you’re so desperate that you’re willing to muck about with time.”


	4. Chapter 4

The time turner felt heavy in his palm. It was a thing of beauty, but it held a great and terrible power. And Dumbledore, that great fool, had gone and allowed a mere child to wield it in order accrue extra class credits. No wonder she didn’t possess the proper fear of such a risky and ill-advised tool.

Hermione reached out her hand. When he didn’t relinquish the necklace, she spoke. “That is the only functioning time turner remaining in all of Great Britain. As you know, the rest were rendered useless during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Professor McGonagall told me after my third year that she’d never allow a student to use it again, regardless of the good I did with it. I may have been her favourite student, but she denied me when I flooed her two nights ago. I had no choice but to borrow it without asking.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he accused. “And as you very well know, Miss Granger, a time turner can only safely be used at five turns. That’s five hours into the past. You mean to tell me you’re considering going back several _days_? You could go mad, or die, or unravel time as we know it.” He was breathing heavily now, angered beyond belief that she could consider something so unbelievably, undeniably stupid.

She bit her lip before responding. “Tell me. If you’d been in possession of one of those when Lily Potter died, would you have used it?”

He glared at her. Several long moments passed in silence. Because deep in his heart, he knew. Without a single moment of hesitation, he would have used it. Consequences be damned. “Yes,” he finally snapped. “Is that what happened? Someone died?”

“That is none of your concern. Besides, that’s not the real question you want to ask me,” she stated knowingly. His expression was stoney, but his knuckles were white while clutching the arm of his chair. She knew she had him. So she waited.

He suddenly propelled himself upright and leaned over her. His arms caged her in, trapping her against the table. “In the Shrieking Shack. How did you save me? _Why_ did you save me?”

Somehow he was angrier now than when he was lecturing her about the time turner. He was so close that his prominent nose almost touched her own.

“You really want to know?”

He nodded, and she raised her chin slightly to look deeper into his eyes. He could feel her exhale against his skin. Then she inhaled quickly, and seemed to make up her mind about something. She moved imperceptibly closer, and his spine tingled with anticipation of their impending contact. 

"Then give me the time turner," she challenged. 

“For fuck’s sake, Granger,” he hissed as he turned from her. “Why did you? Just tell me why.” He turned back to look at her and his eyes were filled with an accusation. He raked his hand through his long hair, which shone black as he paced. _Wait._

“Are you honestly angry with me for saving your life?”

“YES,” he bellowed. “I was supposed to die. I’d finally done what I needed to do…” She stood unmoving, clearly stunned into an angry silence.

He shook his head, trying to make her understand. “I spent decades lying and witnessing terrible things... doing despicable things to maintain The Dark Lord’s trust in me,” he admitted softly. “Trying to keep Potter alive in Lily’s name. Trying to keep you and the Weasley boy alive because you stood between that strutting fool and imminent destruction. It was that or watch you all die, and I couldn’t,” his voice dissolved into angry shouts. “I’d lived for the sole purpose of keeping him alive. And then Dumbledore disclosed that he had to die. That Lily’s son _had to die_ and so help me, I wanted to betray him. I wanted to take you three away and hide you all. But you’d never be safe. And Voldemort would never have fallen. I played my part. I kept Voldemort vulnerable. My purpose was done. You should have let me die.”

He turned away from the fire and walked to his old desk in the corner, splaying his hands on the gnarly surface as if to hold himself up. “How did you do it? How in Merlin’s name did you do it? I felt myself grow cold and your faces dissolved from in front of my eyes. And just when the darkness was claiming me, I awoke in a pool of my own cold blood.”

It was all too much. She watched him shudder and felt a sharp pang of guilt. Hermione summoned her strength and slowly walked to him. Would he recoil from her? Or lash out? Tentatively, she reached out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. She was shocked when he didn’t shrug it away. Even more shocking, she felt the hard muscle beneath his robes. He was far stronger than most would give him credit for. This close, she could smell him once again. This time the fire's embers mixed with his warmth and she felt suddenly lightheaded. Why didn't he react? 

“I was able to save you because I had months to prepare. I saved you… I knew I’d have to save you… because Dumbledore told me so.”

Snape turned to her and straightened to his full height.

“Give me the time turner back and I will tell you everything. Those are my terms.”

She stared up at him from beneath long eyelashes. He looked at the delicate hourglass in his hand, and knew he had only one choice. After a moment of hesitation, he extended his hand…and flung the time turner into the roaring fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments and kudos, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them. I spent last night in the ER after experiencing some scary heart attackish symptoms. I'm in the clear and back home now, and seeing the hits and new kudos on this story really brought a smile to my face after a long and painful night. That's the kind of fanfic community I'd love to become more involved in. *social distancing digital hugs all around*
> 
> There are so many time turner fics out there. I've read them and think they're bloody fantastic. But I've read so much "SS Prudence & Potions" over the years that time travel seems to be a prominent plot device within the Hermione/Snape ship. They've been done so often, and so well, that I couldn't think of anything new, inventive or surprising to add to the time turner trope. So, I decided to poke a bit of fun in setting up a false lead while letting readers know off the bat that this is NOT one of those stories. 
> 
> Cheers.


	5. Chapter 5

Before she could raise her wand to retrieve it, he snapped “Incendio”and the flames plumed to greater height.

“No!” Her heart began to pummel the inside of her chest as she cried out. There would be no retrieving the time turner now; the delicate gold melted before her eyes onto the fireplace grate. What was once beautiful and delicate became a misshapen lump of unsalvageable molten liquid. How could she have let this happen? All her carefully laid plans had just been incinerated along with her prize.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” she stammered. Outraged and distraught, she struggled to hold back tears. Scenes from her childhood flicked across her consciousness: Snape leering down his nose at her like she didn’t deserve to be in his class. Him reprimanding her for being an “insufferable little know-it-all” even when she was the only one clever enough to know the answers to his questions. Feeling her teeth grow to monstrous proportions within her skull and burning with shame as he quipped “I see no difference.”

Then, a presence pushed at the edge of her mind. Like a painful thumb against her temple, she felt its insistence grow. He certainly knew how to add insult to injury. She raised her mental guards and repelled the intrusion. “How dare you?”

He’d withdrawn his attempt at legilimency then. She’d sensed his presence and immediately put up a wall, but not before his own much-younger face had wavered within his mind’s eye. I see no difference, he’d said. God, he’d looked like a twat looking down on her with that snide expression.

No wonder she was glaring at him now. When had she learned occlumency? He certainly hadn’t taught her, and the skill was rare.

The fire cast dangerous shadows in her eyes. “You had NO RIGHT,” she exclaimed. He’d seen her petulance as a child, but was utterly unprepared for her adult fury. Her outrage could barely be contained within her small frame, and she was suddenly striding towards him until her wand was poised under his chin. Her other hand roughly grabbed at the front of his robes, preventing him from any attempt of retreat. It took effort for him to maintain an outer facade of calm. The look in her eyes suggested she was far from the predictable, reasonable priss he’d once taken her for.

“You’ve just killed a man,” she accused.

Anger flashed within her and Hermione could feel her restraint slipping. Terrible words formed on her lips, but she reigned in her power with one final ounce of resolve. He’d just taken so much from her. The war, and Bellatrix, and Dumbledore, and recent events had all taken so much from her. Taking a moment to stare into his eyes, she tried to remember who he was… but more importantly, who she was. She wouldn’t resort to unforgivables.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she had no interest in prolonging their encounter. “Immobulus,” she whispered, wiping hot tears from her cheeks as she turned from him. Time was even more important now, and she had none to waste. Sweeping away his carefully-constructed wards with a single wave of her wand, she fled from the room and into the darkness of the castle once more.

The body bind curse hit Snape with full force. This would only end one way. He braced for impact and felt his body painfully bounce as struck the floor. He was suddenly thankful for the threadbare rug he’d placed in front of the fireplace. Repairing a cracked skull would’ve taken time that he simply didn’t have.

He had to mentally recite the counter curse three times before he was finally able to move again. Was he getting rusty? No, he shook his head slightly to himself. She was just that good. It should have pained him, but instead he swelled with pride. He quickly regained his footing and raced after her upon the stairs.

The fastest route out of the castle was down the hill and past Hagrid’s hut, but that left far wider swath of school grounds for her to cover before reaching the edge of Hogwarts property. Instead, he took off towards the Great Hall… behind it was the shortest route through the courtyards and across the Quidditch Pitch to the edge of the forest beyond. That’s what he would do, he reasoned. She was too intelligent to attempt any other route.

* * *

She sprinted up the steps and cast open the doors of the Great Hall with a flick of her wand. Dashing between the long trestle tables, she tried desperately to ignore the growing hitch in her side.

“Granger, wait!” He called after her from the doorway. Instead of stalking her quietly with the grace of a predator, this time Snape was running after her at full speed. How could he move so quickly?

She fired a silent spell behind her shoulder as she ran, but heard no impact. Damn. A full pitcher just beyond her was knocked over by an unseen spell. She spared a glance behind while maintaining her speed. After a flash of yellow light barely missed her left shoulder, Hermione turned her attention to the floating candles overhead and extended her wand.

“Engorgio!” The light from each candle erupted in a fireball. Snape squinted as their light temporarily blinded him. The heat roared. He pulled up one side of his cloak to shield himself. “Reducto,” he screamed before tearing after her once more. The door behind the staff table was just closing. There was still time to reach her.

The wet grass slowed her way. The pain in her side was now piercing; each breath felt like a sharp stab between her ribs. But she could now see the flags of the Quidditch field waving softly in the moonlit breeze. Almost there. She darted in and out of the posts, using them for cover as he fired spells after her. He was gaining. What do to?

“Incarcerous,” she whispered as she turned back to take aim. But Snape didn’t fall. How to stall him? She fired at the next post she passed. “Expulso!” Her spell exploded the audience platform behind her with a deafening bang.

Gods, she was clever. He’d admire her ingenuity, if only she’d slow the hell down. His lungs felt aflame and he was decidedly too old for this. He saw her wand move towards an adjacent pole and suddenly the sky was alight with flame. He’d barely had time to udder “Impervious” before huge beams were reduced to small splinters which scratched his cheeks and penetrated his coat to imbed themselves in his flesh beneath. Light wounds. Splinters. He’d deal with them later. Adrenaline surged within him and he kept his pace.

She’d passed the tree line. Keep running, she urged herself. Keep running. Each breath felt sharper and more painful as her energy ebbed. But she could feel the wards weakening. There it was: the bush she’d apparated to just hours before. A large rock viciously snagged her bare ankle as she darted past. No time, no time. She was going to make it.

She raced up the final incline, narrowly avoiding tree branches before reaching the top. She closed her eyes and thought of her apparition destination. But as the world began to drop away, she felt long fingers encircle her waist from behind. They were hurled into nothingness together.


	6. Chapter 6

A loud “pop” echoed around Snape and he struggled to get his bearings. Dizziness gripped him and his head swam. Only side-along apparition across a great distance could induce such unpleasant side effects. Unable to focus his gaze, he staggered a bit against Hermione and gripped her waist tighter to steady them both.

He needed to regain control, and fast. He squinted, willing his eyes to focus. They were in a dark place, illuminated by a few spare candles. Shadows danced in strange patterns. The air was thick and humid. He struggled to stay upright on a stone floor, slippery with what he hoped was condensation. The blurriness began to dissipate and he saw them: the bones.

Thousands of human bones adorned the walls. Skulls and femurs were arranged in elaborate tableaus of macabre beauty, made eerier by the flickering light and his still spinning head. An underground ossuary? He stood transfixed by the dead for several moments before becoming aware once more of the living girl clutched tightly against his side. They both heaved for air.

A din of commotion seemed to erupt suddenly around him. Someone wrenched him back, hard and away from her while another set of hands pried his shaking fingers from around her slender frame. Without each other for stability, both he and Hermione collapsed painfully to their knees.

In the distance, he saw her gasp and glare at him. But then several wands came into view in the foreground as he lifted his gaze. Each of them was pointed at him.

“Don’t you dare move,” a familiar voice spat from behind him. “Mione…are you alright?” He watched as someone helped Granger to her feet. She sagged against the dimly-lit wizard a bit, but nodded and kept her gaze unwaveringly on him. Snape fought for balance and looked to her for affirmation. The wizard was facing away from him. Was she truly alright?

“Oh my… oh…” A soft flutter of a female voice whispered from above. He fought nausea and looked up, recognising a familiar face as his dizziness finally abated. Delicately chiselled features and luminous skin that could only come from Veela blood came into sharp focus. Fleur Delacour?

She stared at him like she’d seen a ghost.

“Who is it? Seamus, some more light, please,” called a voice behind him. A plume of fire lit the cavern. Snape squinted at the sudden glare. The Finnigan boy was using his wand like a torch, flame emanating from it in a flickering golden plume. The light illuminated more figures in the cavernous tomb: George Weasley. Dean Thomas. The Lovegood girl. Potter. The wizard clutching Hermione turned, revealing the concerned face of Ronald Weasley. All of them stared with unbelieving faces. But they kept their wands carefully trained on him. Sharp stones made kneeling increasingly painful, but Snape didn’t dare stand. He was simply too outnumbered should they turn on him, young though they might still be. Potter strode tentatively towards him. The disbelief etched on his face gave way to unmistakable anger.

“Who are you?”


	7. Chapter 7

He felt his jaw gape open. No. It simply wasn’t possible. How could Potter not recognise him?

Snape’s eyes flicked back to Hermione, now standing upright with one palm pressed to her forehead and looking like she was fighting the urge to retch. “What happened to him, Miss Granger?” His demand came out harsher then he’d intended. “Why does he not know me?” 

“I know who you _pretend_ to be,” Potter snapped back. “But Severus Snape is dead. I watched him die. You’re going to tell us who you really are, under the Polyjuice. And exactly what you _tried_ to do to her.” He gestured towards his friend before continuing. “Unlike you, I now know _exactly_ who Snape was. What he was _really_ made of. How dare you…. How dare you impersonate him?”

Words from months ago echoed in his mind. Different instance, same accusatory tone from the same young wizard. “How dare you stand where he stood?” Potter spat the accusation and raised the wand higher, towards Snape’s chin.

“No, Harry,” Hermione cried. “Wait….” She quickly strode in front of Snape, shielding him from the others. How was she going to explain? Would they understand? She turned to him then, examining his dark features and darker expression. He’d just destroyed everything she’d worked so tirelessly towards. She wanted to backhand him. She really did. But the time turner was gone, and she hadn’t been able to evade him. She’d already lost that battle. It was time to win the war.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. “It’s him.” She looked from Snape back to the faces of her confused friends. “It’s really him. Put your wands down.” All but Ron complied. She extended her hand downwards to help Snape up. He then enveloped her small hand in his much larger one, keeping her locked in his gaze as he stood to full height above her. A moment of uncertainty seemed to flicker in his gaze before the mask of calm returned once more.

Ron was the first to finally break the silence. “How? Mione, how can that be true?”

Hermione looked from one of her best friends to the other. Ron looked suspicious and seemed reluctant to take his eyes off Snape, even for a moment. Harry clenched his jaw and paced like a dragon in a cage. She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. How to begin?

“Maybe it’s not really him,” came George Weasley’s accusation. “I wouldn’t discount some trick.”

“I don’t think so,” came Finnegan’s rebuttal. The boy walked slowly towards him with his wand still alight. “I’d remember that miserable codger anywhere. That’s him alright.”

Dean Thomas shook his head, still disbelieving. “Could be polyjuice…like Mad Eye…”

“Don’t be silly,” interjected Miss Lovegood for the first time. She smiled briefly at Snape before turning back to Hermione. “His aura is the same blue-grey color it’s always been. Besides, Hermione’s far too clever. If she says it’s him, it’s him.” Without another word, Luna turned and retreated to a small table to pour something dark into a goblet.

“Mr. Snape, sir, something to drink? You too, Hermione. You must be exhausted.”

In all his years he never would have imagined the Lovegood girl being the most sensible of his former students. This night held more surprises than he was prepared to handle. Stifling the odd urge to smirk, he merely nodded. A full glass was placed in his hand as well as Hermione’s.

“If it really is Professor Snape.. if it really is _you_ , sir… how did you survive?” Potter was apparently still incapable of letting things go. When would this hellish evening end?

“I haven’t the faintest,” he admitted before draining his glass. He relished the silky elven red as it quenched his burning throat. He saw Hermione gulp her wine down eagerly, gasping for air and wiping her arm across her lips before turning to her friend.

For gods’ sake,” she implored. “I know you’re all curious but please… for me… in the morning…”

He saw questions form in their eyes. But if Granger was feeling half as weak as she looked, she was in desperate need of sleep and a real meal. Her answers would lead to even more questions, however. And he couldn’t keep up his mask of strength much longer. If he didn’t get to dig out his splinters and sit down soon, he feared he’d fall over. The dizziness from his side along apparition may be gone, but a vicious headache was growing in its wake. He needed to divert their attention from the more complex issues until she could rest. He owed her that much.

“Am I correct in assuming we’re in the catacombs of Paris?” Several nods registered in the dim lights casting flickering shadows against the mosaics of bones. He took a few steps to admire the intricate patterns of vertebrae and skulls. “It’s a miracle we didn’t arrive splinched then, Miss Granger. Over 800 miles and there’s not a scratch on us. I would commend you, had it not been so incredibly reckless.” He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so biting, but saw her flinch at his words. “You could have bloody well disemboweled us both!”

Harry looked perplexed as he turned to face Granger. “You didn’t…”

She slowly nodded, as if admitting to stealing a biscuit from the tin without permission.

“Wicked!” George exclaimed with clear adoration.

“I told you to travel by the Portkey in Hogsmeade,” Fleur accused. “Apparition this far is too dangerous, ‘ermione!”

Snape watched as Hermione’s fatigue gave way to anger once more. “You’re the one who insisted we camp here. Plans changed. I had to adapt.”

“But it’s just not done,” Dean Thomas interjected. “It’s not possible to travel that far during one apparition, as least without making multiple jumps…”

“Just because you can’t,” Hermione interrupted, “doesn’t mean that I’m incapable. I did what it took. To get back here,” she said with clear distain in Fleur’s direction.

Ah, so it was her idea to meet in the crypt, Snape surmised. “Ms. Delacour, you seem to have a flair for the dramatic.” She gave him an incredulous look.

Ron came to his sister-in-law’s rescue. “Says the man with a penchant for long robes that billow behind him wherever he stomps.”

Snape didn’t take the bait, and wondered aloud. “Why go here? Of anywhere in wizarding Europe… or muggle Europe, for that matter… why here?”

“I thought it was mental too, at first” Ron admitted. But hear Fleur out.” 

“There are over 200 miles of underground tunnels here in Paris,” Fleur began in her soft spoken accent. “Only a handful of those miles are accessible to Muggles, via tours and during regular business hours. The catacomb system here is a labyrinth that only the most inquisitive of muggles would dare explore illegally after dark, and those can easy be repelled by various charms. The wizarding population here stays away from the ossuary due to superstition.”

At his unwavering gaze, she continued. “In 1668 King Louis XIV’s mistress, Madame d’ Montespan, used dark magic and child sacrifice to curse the French Blue Diamond… now called the ‘ope Diamond… to bring death and despair to any wife of a French King who would attempt to dismiss the Royal Mistress. Marie Antionette later owned the diamond and ensured _maîtresse-en-titre_ Madame du Barry’s expulsion from Versailles. A bloody revolution followed. Pour guillotined souls… they now sleep here. Many witches and wizards here believe that their tortured muggle spirits will rise to strike down any magical folk that dare venture here… retribution for the forbidden curses that led to such bloodshed.”

His gaze traveled from one skull to the next, wishing he could bid the dead to speak their secrets. Who were they? What were their desires? How did they spend their days? What accusation brought about their fateful end via Madame La Guillotine? Light flickered against eye sockets that had been empty for centuries.

“Should our enemies come calling,” Fleur continued, “we’ve enchanted some remains to rise up and scare off any would-be intruders. We’re far enough away from those we know to be hunting us, and no one here has any personal ties that might lead someone to this location. There is no better hiding place. I insist.” The French girl might look delicate, but her tone suggested she was not easily crossed.

“Yes, this history lesson is all well and good but what about the time turner,” Dean whispered impatiently in Hermione’s direction. “Did you get it?”

Each face looked expectantly at her. Hermione’s shoulders slumped and she almost staggered over from exhaustion and defeat. A hand shot out from behind to steady her. Severus’ warm palm splayed on her back and she steadied herself. She looked up at him before answering. His brow arched as if wondering to himself how much she would divulge. Should she tell them all that Snape was the reason for their predicament? His jaw clenched and gods, how she still wanted to pummel him.

She turned and slowly shook her head. “The final time turner has been destroyed. It was a dead end.”

Snape saw their faces fall in unison. What were they after? And why had Granger chosen to conceal the details of their encounter within Hogwarts?

“No,” came Fleur’s whispered denial. Hermione thrust her empty wineglass into Snape’s free hand before running to embrace her friend. “We will find another way,” she insisted. They pulled away and Snape saw both girls’ eyes were glistening. “I swear it,” Hermione vowed. Fleur nodded slowly and wiped her reddened cheeks before turning quickly away.

Hermione’s attention turned once more to Harry, who was still staring at Snape in disbelief.

“I have to know,” Harry insisted. “How?”

She was exhausted, but fought for control. “I will explain everything in the morning. I promise.” She glanced around the room so as to include everyone. “But there’s nothing more to be done tonight.

Hermione’s knees began to shake. Harry and Luna caught her before she fell. “She’s right,” Harry conceded. “We could all use some rest.”


End file.
